


Read All About It

by sir_kingsley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge, Editor Castiel, Editor Dean, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Journalist Dean, M/M, Newspapers, copy editor castiel, for like three minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_kingsley/pseuds/sir_kingsley
Summary: Dean is the sports editor for his college newspaper and it's March Madness, meaning things are a bit tense in the newsroom right now. And it doesn't help that the unfairly gorgeous copy chief, Castiel, totally hates his guts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Muse and Jojo for arranging this challenge! It was the perfect kick in the pants to finally get this story written. 
> 
> This story was inspired by my time as a copy editor for my college paper. That being said, while I shit on MLA style in this fic, please note that I use a blasphemous mix of MLA and AP styles and I'm sorry.
> 
> This story contains a little news jargon so I'm going to explain some terms here.  
>  **-Backshop** : the area in my student paper's newsroom designated to page design. It's basically just a computer lab with a ton of graphic design memes taped to the walls.
> 
> **-Lede** : the intro paragraph to a news story. Yes, this is really how it's spelled. I don't like it either.
> 
> **-Sidebar** : a type of sports story that focuses on a specific part of a game/a stand-out athlete. I don't think they're actually that common in swimming and diving but shhhhh.
> 
> Those are the only terms that stand out to me. If you are confused by anything else in the story, feel free to tell me in the comments and I will explain.

**If I see one more oxford comma in any of your content tonight, I will set your car on fire. -CN**

Dean scowls at the short note written just before Garth’s sidebar on the men’s diving team begins. He turns to his left, aiming a glare at the dark-haired boy not even eight feet away, but if he notices Dean’s annoyance he doesn’t react. Just keeps typing. Probably threatening to ruin someone else’s life with arson. 

He turns back to his screen and deletes the note, eyes taking in the two dozen notes left within the story pointing out everything he missed in his first edit. 

**Use of school name or mascot must be consistent within the same sentence. –CN**

**“Affect” not “effect.” –CN**

**“More than” not “over.” –CN**

**Did he seriously just use an exclamation point? Does he think he’s writing for US Weekly? –CN**

Dean’s fists clench. Cas is the fucking _worst._

He rereads the article, deleting Cas’s passive-aggressive — and occasionally blatantly aggressive — comments as he goes, fixing what he can before sending the piece back with his own note. 

**Happy now, Grammar Nazi? –DW**

He closes the article with a satisfied smirk that quickly sours when he sees four articles in his queue. 

It’s like this every night he closes. He reads all his content, pushes it to the copy desk and within minutes it’s back to him when it should be at the fucking managing editor so it can be sent to layout for page design.

But there is no getting past the notorious copy chief, Castiel Novak. 

It was hard to believe that Dean had wanted to be friends with this guy when they first met during workshops. Cas has been on the quiet side but funny if you gave him enough time to find his sense of humor in a conversation. He was scary smart, unnervingly formal, and so fucking hot. 

It took one look at that untamed hair and those iridescent blue eyes for Dean to know that this kid was the one he wanted to be newsroom buddies with. And what luck that their desks were almost right next to each other. He had expected a semester of late-night coffee runs, inside jokes, and empathetic looks when breaking news occurred or when they were getting chewed out for missing deadline.

That all came crashing down their first day in the newsroom when Cas sent a cross-country column back to him more or less expressing interest in using the AP Stylebook to maul Dean’s writer.

The quiet, gorgeous guy Dean fell for during workshops was actually a hell beast. 

“Hey, Dean, can you hurry up and push your stuff through?” Charlie calls from the management desk.

Dean grimaces. “I’d love to, but the Bill Russell of Oxford commas over here keeps sending my shit back.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d do your job correctly the first time and actually edit your stories,” Cas responds without looking away from his screen.

“I am editing them!” Dean growls. 

Cas actually snorts at that. “Hard to tell.”

Dean swings around to look at Charlie helplessly who just blows hair through her bags. “You guys, please don’t do this tonight. We’re already pushing deadline. I need all of Dean’s stuff through so we can focus on basketball when the game ends.”

“Then tell your grammar hellhound to back off,” Dean says.

Cas finally looks over, blue eyes burning cold. “Or tell your fraternity blockhead to do his job so I can do mine more effectively.”

“Okay, Cas, just push it through,” Charlie orders. “Dean, send your stuff to me and update your fucking Twitter.”

Dean and Cas share a final dirty look before returning to their tasks. 

Around 11:00, proofs land on Dean’s desk and he glances over them before turning back to the game. The university is trailing, 60-68, but there’s still plenty of time for them to catch up. 

The newsroom is quieting, with the other desks packaging and publishing their content on the website. The other editors slowly gravitate to Dean’s desk where he’s streaming the game, babbling about their ruined brackets and lost bets because no one honestly expected the team to get this far. 

But their boys are picking up momentum, the points deficit easily shrinking and Dean is on the edge of his seat, jumping between the live stream and his bustling Twitter feed. His co-editor, Benny, is tweeting up a storm from his place in the stadium, the lucky bastard. Dean should have known better than to leave the decision on which of them got to go to a game of rock-paper-scissors. 

The clock claims ten minutes left in play and their shooting guard is easing behind the three-point line.

“Shit he’s not gonna try this again is he?” Jo, the arts editor, whines.

“He’s been off all night,” Ash, the page designer, mutters.

But Dean sees it coming, sees the way the player’s legs are coming together and his arms are moving up-

“Time, date, place is honestly not that hard to remember!” 

Everyone jumps from Dean’s computer at the uproar. “Oh, what the fuck is it now?” Dean growls.

Cas just frowns at him. “Oh, my apologies for interrupting your very important basketball game,” he snaps.

Dean gestures wildly at his computer. “It’s the final four, Cas!”

Cas just tilts his head. “And?”

Dean simmers for a second before just exploding with an “oh my god!”

“This has nothing to do with you anyway, for once,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. “Jo, you need to fix the lede in your auditorium story.”

“Seriously?” Jo whimpers.

“Time, date, place,” Cas recites apathetically. 

Jo groans. “I swear to God, I’m never stepping foot in that building again after this semester,” she mumbles as she follows Cas to backshop. 

“God, I can’t stand that guy,” Dean growls under his breath.

Charlie snorts next to him. “Yeah, sure.”

Dean slides her a look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think I notice how often you stare at him?”

“You mean glare? Because he’s a fucking nightmare and a pain in my ass?”

Charlie laughs and leans back in her chair. “You love bickering with him and you know it.”

“You’ve got some warped views of what it means to like someone if you honestly believe for one second that I’m interested in that demon.” Charlie just maintains her smug grin and Dean bats her away. “Okay, you know what, you can fuck off. I have a game to watch.”

“That’s no way to talk to your boss,” she says indignantly but stands and shuffles away.

The team pulls ahead in the final two minutes and snares a spot in the finals. Dean screams and jumps into action. He’s got tweets to write, stats to publish, a column to finish and it all has to be done before Benny emails him his game recap.

“Cas, when you get it, send it straight to me,” Charlie says from her desk.

“Of course,” Cas sighs.

“Ash, can you make you a jpeg of that timeline graphic and send it to me? We can put it centerpiece on the web until Benny’s story comes through.”

Ash throws up a thumb. “Got it, boss.”

It’s a tense half hour, but somehow they pull together and get the entire paper packaged and sent to the printer a minute before midnight. 

“Oh my God,” Charlie sighs. “Oh my God, we did it.” She’s looking up at the ceiling with wonder. “We actually did it.” 

Dean presses his face into his desk, completely wiped. “Is the semester over yet?” he groans.

“Only halfway,” Cas mumbles.

With a deep breath, Charlie perks up. “Okay, bitches, I think it’s time for a drink!” she declares. 

Dean rises. “Ya know, Red, I think you’re right.”

“I could use a few dozen beers,” Ash agrees.

“Let’s move out!” Charlie says, gesturing everyone toward the door. “Gotta get to Kilroy’s before all the not-completely-disgusting barstools get taken. Cas, get a move on!”

They all look back at the dark-haired boy who is slowly gathering his things. Cas is looking at them like they just spoke a different language while Dean looks at his best friend like the cold-blooded traitor she is. 

“Um, what?” he and Cas ask at the same time.

“We’re gonna go get a drink, dude,” she says. “I think we can all agree that we deserve one. So come on!”

Cas looks nervous when Charlie turns her back on him, obviously just expecting him to follow. His eyes slide to Dean’s for a moment and Dean tries to wipe the glare of betrayal off his face before chasing after the redhead.

“What the fuck?” he hisses.

“I’m not gonna leave him out just because you’re a big baby,” she says. “He’s a part of our staff and he does a lot for us so I’m buying the man a damn drink and you’re going to not be a jackass.”

“ _I’m_ the jackass?”

“Sometimes.”

“Charlie, he threatened to set my car on fire. For forgetting to remove an Oxford comma. My _car._ ”

“Yeah, well, you should really know better by now,” Charlie says with a shrug. “AP for life, dude. None of that weak MLA shit.”

“I hate you,” Dean whispers.

Kilroy’s is only a seven-minute walk from campus and they squeeze their way through the rowdy patrons up to the bar. 

“Five shots of Patron please,” Charlie yells over the music at the bartender.

Dean rolls his eyes. Leave it to Charlie to start the night with tequila. 

He gives the place a once-over, taking in the half-naked students, bodies painted in their school colors, dancing and screaming and passing out on every available surface. Some of them have probably been here since the bar opened, pre-gaming the official pre-game. Gotta love college. 

Dean turns back to the bar and catches Cas. He’s tense and practically hugging the bar as if he’s trying to avoid human contact and it’s not working out well for him. Dean smirks as Cas throws a nasty glare at a girl who nearly falls on top of him before she tumbles off into the ruckus. Cas’s eyes find Dean’s his look of annoyance intensifies as his lips set into a firm frown that makes Dean smile more. 

“Okay, everybody take a shot!” Charlie cries, distributing the little glasses. “To the greatest student newspaper in the country!”

They tip their glasses back and Dean takes the burn easily. Cas, not so much, judging from the scrunch in his nose that makes Dean laugh. 

“Another round!” Charlie says.

Charlie buys everyone three rounds before she sees a girl from her graphic design class and bails. The rest slowly follow suit, Dean spotting a few buddies from the radio station and wandering over.

The bar seems to get busier as time passes and it’s hot and smelly as the liquor keeps pouring. 

Dean is ready to call it a night. Cas vanished a long time ago, Jo and Ash are tearing up the beer pong tournament and Charlie’s so far in her classmate’s lap, Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to worry about how she’s getting home.

“Hey, man, I’ll talk to you guys later,” he tells his friends and makes a move for the exit.

But then he spots a flash of blue and he pauses between two people to look back.

Cas is smiling up at some guy and laughing way too hard and the strange dude has a hand on his waist and it makes Dean pout for no good reason. He’s preparing to leave again when Cas’s eyes latch onto his and blow wide.

Dean frowns at him questioningly and Cas’s eyes only seem to get bigger, wider, more… panicked.

Dean’s gaze dips down and sees the man’s hand slipping lower to Cas’s hip and he watches as Cas tries to move away but can’t because this guy literally has him pinned to the bar.

_Oh._

Dean is moving without conscious thought. He has no idea what the game plan is here but the first thing he does is tear the stranger’s hand away from Cas’s body.

“Wanna get your fucking hands off my boyfriend?” are the words that leave his mouth.

“Dean,” Cas squeaks.

“Whoa, dude, who the fuck are you?” the guy barks.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Dean growls, throwing an arm around Cas’s waist. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Bro, we were just talking.”

“Well, go talk somewhere else and stop bothering him.”

“Okay, dude,” the guy says, throwing up his hands. “Chill.”

And with that sage advice, the asshole lumbers off. Dean watches him carefully, sees the way he looks back, and tightens his grip on Cas. The guy practically snarls but turns away and gets lost in the crowd.

“Dude, are you okay?” Dean asks the second he and Cas are safe.

“I-yes, I’m, ugh-”

Dean tips Cas’ head back, ducking to peer into his eyes. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, he-”

“Did you drink anything he gave you or-”

“What? No, Dean, he-he didn’t roofie me!” Cas huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay.” Dean let’s his hands drop and hides them in his pockets because he’s shocked to find them shaking. “What are you still doing here? I thought you left like an hour ago.”

Cas smiles weakly. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to.”

“What?”

Cas shrugs. “I couldn’t find any of you and you’re not supposed to just leave your friends alone at a bar in case something bad happens.”

Dean just blinks at the other boy, who is avoiding eye contact like the plague and all Dean can do is lift his tired gaze to the ceiling. “Oh my God, Cas,” he sighs. “Look that’s really nice bar etiquette, but you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. And certainly not when you’re being sexually harassed. You were about ten minutes away from being Monday’s page-one story.”

“Well,” Cas hedges, “that is nice to know for next time. Oh, for the love of-” Cas tenses suddenly and breaks out a tight smile.

“What is it? Why are you smiling like that?”

“He’s watching us again,” Cas grits.

Dean throws his shoulders back, barely resisting turning around. “Seriously?”

“If we pretend like we’re having a good time he’ll have to give up,” Cas says through his smile and then laughs sharply. “Right?”

It’s unnerving to see Cas so vulnerable. Thirty minutes ago it thrilled Dean but now he just wants to hug him — and what the fuck kind of thinking was that? Cas was an asshole and they were not friends and Dean didn’t owe him anything.

But he hated seeing that fake smile.

“I think he’s looking for a show,” Dean says and dangerous thoughts start spinning around his head. 

Cas looks at him again. “What?”

“Just trust me,” Dean says with a wink. “’k, babe?”

Dean moves closer, eyes dropping to Cas’s mouth as the other boy’s only warning before he slides one hand along Cas’s jaw and the other snaps around his waist. He hears the way Cas’s breath catches and he wavers, giving Cas the time he needs to push away.

But he doesn’t. Cas’s eyes close shut and he leans the rest of the way in, pressing his mouth to Dean’s.

They fumble for a few seconds, lips just touching but an obvious want to push closer coursing through both. Dean’s fingers clutch at the fabric of Cas’s sweater and that seems to give Cas all the encouragement he needs. His lips part and Dean’s follow suit until he can finally taste the tequila on Cas’s tongue and dives in like a man seeking the kind of peace only known at the bottom of the bottle. 

He has no idea how long the kiss lasts but eventually he needs to breathe and they break apart gasping. Cas is looking at him like he’s not even human and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to run away or hold tight.

But there’s a shift in Cas’s eyes that has him leaning toward the later. Cas has really pretty eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, they’re an unnatural sort of blue, the kind you wax poetry about and gaze into for inappropriate amounts of time. Kind of like how Dean is doing now. 

He thinks he sees a pink tint to Cas’s cheeks and Cas is watching him closely, beautiful eyes wandering all around Dean’s face like he’s mapping it. It makes Dean feel warm and his fingers start to curl in Cas’s sweater again. 

Cas’s lips part. 

Maybe… maybe…

“He’s gone,” Cas says suddenly, voice rough.

“What?”

“He’s gone. The guy. Who was watching us. He’s gone.”

Sobriety hits Dean like a wall of ice. “Oh.” Right. He let’s his hands fall.

“I should probably go home,” Cas continues. “Want to get a head start on my homework.” He won’t look at Dean as he speaks.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Dean grunts, and puts his hands safely back in his pockets. “You, ugh, you gonna be okay getting home by yourself?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll, ugh, see you Monday.”

The only response Dean can give is a nod. He thinks Cas is frowning but he doesn’t want to look at the guy’s lips. So he turns toward the bar as Cas walks away.

What the actual fuck?

*****

**If this writer confuses “affect” and “impact” one more time I will tear apart everything they love with my own two hands. –CN**

Dean huffs at the note before deleting it and diving back into the story he’s already reread three fucking times.

He’d had the entire weekend to overanalyze the kiss and Cas’s reaction. Of course, at first, he’d been pretty certain Cas ran away from him because he hated him and wanted to pretend it never happened.

But another day of self-reflection had allowed a different school of thought to soothe his crumbling self-esteem. Maybe Cas was just nervous, scared even, and worrying about the consequences of the line they’d crossed. Maybe he was confused about where it left them in terms of coworkers and classmates. Maybe _he_ thought that _Dean_ hadn’t like it.

Or maybe he was pissed that right after defending him from some stranger’s aggressive advances, Dean had turned and kissed him like a fucking jackass.

That thought kept Dean up late Sunday night. 

His classes Monday morning are a waste because all Dean can think about is how he’s going to approach Cas. They usually didn’t greet each other. Just went to their desks and got to work. 

That isn’t acceptable now.

Does he just nod at him? Say hi? Go sit next to him? Maybe ask him to get lunch?

_No, that’s too much like a date._

Dean is a jittery mess by the time he makes his way to the newsroom. Cas isn’t in yet so he goes to his desk and takes a deep breath.

“Ready for another long night?” Charlie asks, plopping down on Dean’s desk. 

“Not even a little,” Dean says. 

“Basketball is centerpiece, win or lose. Ash will have page one designed hopefully by half-time so once the game ends we’ll just have to wait for the story and the photos, plug them in, and package.”

“Do I have jumps?” Dean asks.

“No, so tell Benny to write short. No more than 600.”

Dean whistles. “He’s not gonna like that.”

Charlie scoffs and slides down from the desk. “We paid for that kid to go to the NCAA Tournament. He can bite me.”

Dean sets to work opening his email. He’s editing a story with Garth when Cas breezes into the newsroom and Dean’s heart stumbles. Cas looks at him and Dean can’t remember what he’d decided on earlier. Talk? Lunch? Irish jig? 

So what he manages is a smile and he’s stunned when Cas’s cheeks redden and his lips turn up. 

_Is this what a heart attack feels like?_

“You okay, Deano?” Garth asks and Dean jumps back into reality.

“Huh? Yeah, ‘m fine,” Dean says quickly but Garth has this look on his face. He points to the computer. “Edit your damn story.”

Garth smiles and turns back to the screen and Dean casts one final look at Cas before hiding his own grin. Maybe today wouldn’t be that bad.

A half hour later he’s reading, “If I were a reader, I’d actually eat the newspaper to avoid having to finish this garbage paragraph.”

Yeah… He’s pretty sure by now that Cas isn’t worried about their relationship and he certainly hadn’t ran off because he was nervous.

It was just some good old-fashioned loathing and regret. Wonderful.

Dean makes the changes Cas was griping about and sends the story back. 

They play this game for hours, Dean keeping his irritation limited to sighs and clenching his fists in intervals until finally everything but the basketball content is through proofs.

“Okay, guys, all the pages are packaged and sent out except for sports,” Charlie announces around 10:00. “You’re welcome to stay and watch the game, but aside from Dean, Cas and Ash, everyone can go home.”

“I think we spend enough time in this room,” Jo says as she slips on her backpack. “I’m out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy your freedom.”

Most of the other editors follow suit, leaving once their content is published online, until it’s just the four of them left.

“What’s up with you and Cas tonight?” Charlie wonders, creeping up next to Dean.

He startles and pushes her away. “What? Nothing.”

“You’re not fighting,” she says with suspicion. “You haven’t complained about each other once all day.”

Dean gives a noncommittal shrug and stays focused on the game. “We worked it out. You’re welcome.”

“Worked it out, huh?” and Dean can hear the eyebrow wriggle in her voice.

“Gross, Charlie.”

“Hey, you know I don’t judge. But seriously, what is Cas’s dirty talk like because I feel like he’ be very-”

“Oh my God, I am not talking to you anymore,” Dean cries and jumps to his feet with his computer.

“Oh, dude, come on!”

Dean wishes he could just laugh it off and take Charlie’s teasing for what it is. But every mention of Cas, every thought of him, makes Dean’s insides feel tight.

He claims a corner in backshop and resumes watching the game in peace, tweeting as it progressed. It wasn’t looking good for their school and he threaded together a melancholy lede for his column. 

Dean is in a frenzy, trying to write, edit, and manage social media as the game clock runs. He feels wound-up and really just wants to scream and maybe punch something and then sleep for four days straight. He watches as the point guard misses another shot and curses loudly. Fucking typical-

“Hey, Dean, you-”

“Not now, Cas,” he groans.

“But we-”

“Oh, what is it now?” Dean snaps, looking up. “Did I misspell a state capitol? Did I accidentally use the mascot when I should have used the university name? Did I miss another fucking Oxford comma?”

Cas blinks at him owlishly and there’s color creeping into his face. “Well, yes, actually, but you-”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Dean interrupts coldly. “I have a deadline approaching and a game to watch and a Twitter to update so just stow your bullshit for another ten minutes, okay?”

He doesn’t catch Cas’s response, just spins around and digs out his earbuds. If one more fucking person interrupts him…

The game ends a little after 11:30. They lose and Dean feels about as defeated as the athletes wallowing on the screen, all that adrenaline rushing out of him at the sound of the final buzzer. 

He adds the finishing touches to his column and sends it to copy. A few minutes later, he has Benny’s recap and it makes it’s way to Cas and Charlie, back to Dean and then finals at last. 

They package the paper just a little past midnight and Dean lies defeated at his desk.

“I’d love to stick around and remind you that winning isn’t everything,” Charlie says, “but I have a media ethics quiz in the morning that I haven’t studied for.”

Dean just grunts in response. 

“All right, I’ll see you tomorrow. Ash, let’s go.”

Dean hears their footsteps fade away and the door close and he shuts his eyes.

“I’m sorry about the loss.”

He’s back up in a heartbeat, inhaling sharply. “Fuck, Cas! You scared the shit out of me!”

“I apologize,” Cas says and takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dean groans into his hands. “What are you doing here, man?”

“Well, we haven’t been able to talk since-”

“And we don’t have to.” Dean stands from his desk because he is not talking about this. “It’s fine, Cas. We can just pretend it never happened and go back to hating each other’s guts. Sound good?” He swings his bag over his shoulder and offers Cas a tight smile before making a beeline for the backshop.

“But that’s not what I want,” Cas says, chasing after him. “And I don’t hate your guts.”

Dean snorts as he picks up his laptop. “Of course, because you wouldn’t say it like that. You, ugh, how’d you put it? ‘Weep for every atom whose potential was wasted on your existence.’” Dean smiles sourly. “So poetic.”

“I did not write that about you,” Cas points out, looking just the slightest shade of ashamed. “It was about that Crowley person.”

“Yeah, Cas, one of my writers. A member of my staff.” Cas gives him a vague stare that says “so?” Dean rolls his eyes. “So it still feels personal when you go on your epic tirades about how much you hate the people who write for me.”

Cas bows his head. “I never meant to personally offend you.”

“Okay and what about all the times you’ve threatened to set my car on fire? Or my computer? Or my desk — actually, dude, you talk about arson a lot, like, is there something we need to know about you?”

“I read more than forty articles a day, Dean,” Cas defends and that trademark petulance is creeping back into his voice. “It gets frustrating when people miss things as simple as an Oxford comma.”

“Then talk to me about it like a reasonable human being,” Dean suggests, exasperated by this entire conversation because he’s fucking tired and angry and Cas is just standing there looking one part awkward, one part stubborn, and all around amazingly disheveled. He sighs. “Seriously, Cas, I’m tired of fighting. I’ll do better with my content if you stop bullying my staff. Deal?” He offers a hand.

And for a second Cas actually looks reluctant and Dean wants to scream but then the other boy steps closer to slide his palm against Dean’s. “Deal.”

Cas’s hand is warm, skin a little rough and Dean gives it a quick squeeze before pulling away. He offers a tight smile and nod as Cas just stares at him. “Okay then. See you tomorrow.”

“Wait, Dean,” Cas says, following him again. “That’s not all that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“We really don’t have to talk about it, Cas,” Dean says, hand reaching for the door. 

Cas reaches past Dean to grab the doorknob and pulls it firmly shut, and Dean looks up, face juts an inch from Cas’s. He’s knocked breathless by the blue.

“Cas-”

“I never thanked you for helping me at the bar,” Cas says quickly. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to-”

Cas cuts him off with the shake of his head. “Yes, I do. I was in an uncomfortable situation and you dropped what you were doing to help me. It was very kind and I’m grateful. So thank you.”

The sincerity in Cas’s eyes is too much and Dean has to look away. He gives a small shrug, clears his throat. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome. And, ugh, I should apologize.”

He feels rather than sees Cas tilt his head. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was inappropriate. You had just been warding off some dude’s unwanted advances and then I turn around and basically do the same thing by kissing you. So I’m sorry.”

“Your advances were not unwanted.”

It’s a whisper that shakes Dean to his core and he looks up to find Cas smiling. “What?”

“If we’re being completely honest here, I’ve wanted to kiss you since we met at workshops,” Cas says. 

Dean wants to scream and implode and run a marathon all at once. Instead he just blinks. “What?” he asks again. 

Cas huffs with laughter and it shouldn’t be sexy but, like, it is. “Is that really all that you can say?”

“I just- I didn’t- I mean- y-you never gave any signs.”

“No offense, Dean, but between your muscle car and unhealthy amount of baseball references, you’re like the poster child of heterosexuality.”

Dean wants to argue but relents for years of similar accusations. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Cas’s teeth pull at his bottom lip. “So would it be safe to assume that you feel the same way?”

Dean snorts but his skin flushes. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I like to be thorough,” Cas says with challenging eyes. 

“Oh, I _know,_ ” Dean says emphatically.

Cas narrows his eyes. “Okay can we cut the witty banter and just kiss? I’m starting to lose my patience.”

Dean drops his backpack and finally lets his hands settle on Cas’s waist the way they’ve been itching to all weekend. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://caslikescoffeeandfreckles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
